


Sanctum

by memories_child



Category: The X-Files
Genre: Alternate Universe, Community: xf_santa, F/M, Smut
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-01-23
Updated: 2012-01-23
Packaged: 2017-10-30 00:58:38
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,523
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/326011
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/memories_child/pseuds/memories_child
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>It’s been twelve hours since Mulder disappeared. Twelve hours of silence and guilt and frustration, and in the middle some impossible fucking miracle that Skinner doesn’t even know how to comprehend.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Sanctum

**Author's Note:**

> **Spoilers:** Requiem  
>  **Disclaimer:** The X Files, unfortunately, does not belong to me. Much as I’d love to say I came up with it.  
>  **Author's Notes:** This was written for LJ's 2010 xf_santa gift exchange. I tried to steer away from h/c and angst, but there is desk sex and ties are involved. Thanks to cadiliniel for the beta.

It’s been twelve hours since Mulder disappeared. Was taken. Hell, since whatever happened to him, happened. Twelve hours of silence and guilt and frustration, and in the middle some impossible fucking miracle that he doesn’t even know how to comprehend.

They discharged Scully early this morning and already she’s in work, storming into his office with that ‘someone’s going to get killed if I don’t find out what the hell is going on’ look on her face.

Shit. He’d never realised how goddamn hot she was when she was riled up. Scratch that. He’d realised it; every man in the Bureau had realised it. But he’d never wanted to act upon it before. Call it survivor’s guilt or whatever, but if he could he’d throw her over the desk and take her now. As it is, Kersh wants to see them. Now.

She doesn’t look at him as they make their way through the corridors of the Hoover building. Her heels clack on the linoleum floor and that sets him thinking of her three inch heels, the legs that taper upwards only to be hidden by a pencil-thin skirt. She moves with determination and he wonders if she’d have that same determination in bed. If she’d narrow her eyes while she sucked him off. If she’d wear her heels and nothing else.

It’s a relief when they finally get to Kersh’s office and he has to focus on what the Deputy Director is saying. He concentrates on not giving too much away; on saying ‘sir’ without too much distaste. He’s thankful that Scully’s standing next to him, the intensity vibrating off her reminding him that Mulder’s missing in all of that. That Mulder is the one he needs to save.

Scully makes that clear as they make their way to the Bullpen and he tells himself that her insistence he do nothing to jeopardise his career is born of concern for him as much as concern for Mulder. He tells himself that maybe, just maybe she could feel something for him as he’s shepherded to a desk and a waiting agent.

* * *

  
Scully’s gone by the time he’s done answering the idiotic questions they keep throwing at him. There are only so many times you can answer the question of ‘did you see anything’ before the urge to beat the agent asking the damn thing becomes too much. He wonders if this was how Mulder felt half the time, like banging his head against a brick wall. But thinking of Mulder bring him full circle to thinking about Scully and he wonders where she is. Did they give her the same treatment? Did they afford her any special consideration? He’s sure they’ve heard the rumours about her and Mulder, though thank god they don’t know anything about her…condition. Yet.

Not for the first time he’s wondered what the hell he let himself in for when he became Mulder’s superior. What the hell he’s let himself in for searching for him when in all likelihood he’s not coming back.

He’s still mulling over the best laid plans of mice and men when he opens his office door and comes face to face with Scully. He startles and she glances at him, her face pale but her eyes red.

“Scully. What are you doing here? I thought you’d been taken to give a statement.”

“That bastard,” she spits the word with venom, “set it all up. He didn’t want our statements; he wanted the dirt on Mulder. To discredit him. His work.”

“Woah. Scully, calm down. Who set it up. Kersh?”

“Doggett.”

“John Doggett? The task force leader? Why would he want to set anything up?”

“You heard what Kersh said. If we say anything about aliens or abductions or anything that might cast the Bureau in a ridiculous light…”

She turns away from him and sinks into the chair. Her eyes are closed, pulled tight as though she’s trying to stop any light from entering. He stands uncomfortably for a moment, until he sees her shoulders start to tremble, and then he crosses the floor to her.

“Scully,” he says as he rests him hand awkwardly on her shoulder. “We will find him. You and me, we’re all Mulder’s got now if your suspicions about Doggett are correct. We can’t let him down. I told you earlier that I’d find him and I will. Just… just don’t give up.”

She turns to look at him and her eyes, though red-rimmed, are hard.

“I’m not planning on giving up on him.” She rises and begins to pace the room, marking points off on her fingers as she talks. “We go back to Oregon. There might be something in the woods. Something that we’ve missed. And we have to get there before Doggett does. I don’t trust him. If we can get a flight this afternoon we can be there in a couple of hours. We can -”

Skinner grabs her shoulder as she passes on another circuit of the room and twists her to look at him. She’s trying hard to keep up the façade, he realises. The way her jaw tightens as he grips her arm, the scowl that he bets she doesn’t realise is working its way across her forehead. This is the way she stops herself from falling apart. The way she’s stopped herself from falling apart in the seven years he’s known her.

He lifts his arm to her face and strokes her cheek. She tries to turn away, averts her eyes, but his hand under her chin draws her back to him.

“Look at me, Scully.”

Reluctantly she lifts her eyes to meet his.

“We will get him back but rushing into things head first isn’t going to help anyone. Let Doggett do what he wants to do. The more we cooperate the less Kersh’ll be on our asses. We have contacts. Let’s use them.”

“I can’t-” Her voice is nearly a whisper. “I can’t wait that long. What if they don’t find him? What if they do? I can’t take that chance.”

She twists out of his grip and bats at her eyes, smoothes her hair into place. She looks at him and the hardness is back in her face now. Her composure regained. She glares at him and he is surprised at the ache he feels. That the guard which had fallen around him less than five minutes ago is back up, and reinforced.

“Thanks for your help, Sir.” She fires at him as she heads for the door.

“Damnit, Scully.”

He reaches for her as she reaches for the handle, pulls her back into the room and into his arms. His hands are on her hips before either of them realise it and he can feel himself getting hard.

“Do you really think I’m letting you walk out of that door? You could get yourself killed out there. If Doggett and his men don’t want Mulder alive you think they’re going to spare you? Jesus, Scully!”

“And what, you’re going to play the hero? Stop the little woman risking her neck, and God forbid, her unborn child-”

He kisses her. It’s the only way he can think of to shut her up. To make her realise that he’s not trying to play the hero at all. That what he’s doing is the most selfish thing in the world. He kisses her and pulls her tighter, wrapping his arms around her. _What the fuck are you doing what the fuck are you doing what the fuck are you doing_ echoes around his mind until he realises that she’s kissing him back, and decides to stop thinking altogether.

Her hands are running over his back and she kisses him like she’s afraid she’s going to lose him too. He cups her cheeks and teases her mouth open again with his tongue. Her fingers are raking his back and he shivers involuntarily. She breaks away and he moves to her neck. The skin there is pale and white, a reminder of where she had spent the previous night, and he can taste the spot where her gold necklace should have been. His tongue explores the sensitive spots behind her ears, teasing skin that goose-bumps under his touch, and she moans, deep in the back of her throat. It’s at that point he thinks he might just lose it.

His hands creep up, tracing the curves of her body as hers move down to the waistband of his pants. He cups her breasts, his fingers grazing her nipples, and nips at the soft skin of her neck. She responds by pressing herself closer to him and his lips fix hungrily on hers as his erection grows.

“Scully,” he breathes and she pulls his shirt from his pants, her hands skimming the vertebrae of his spine.

“Don’t,” she mutters, and kisses him hungrily.

Somehow they make their way to his desk, losing his belt and her blouse on the way. He lifts her up and slides her onto the wood, sending reams of paperwork into the air. She parts her legs and he moves between them, his fingers skirting over the flimsy fabric of her bra, the taut rise of her nipples. His mouth is locked on hers and he cups her breasts, kneading them between his fingers. Her breath catches in her throat and she moans a name that might be his.

Fuck, he thinks. What am I doing. What am I _doing_? Taking advantage of an agent while she’s vulnerable. What the hell kind of behaviour is that for an AD? What the hell kind of behaviour is that for a friend?

He breaks away and rests his forehead against her shoulder.

“I can’t,” he wants to say. “Think about what we’re doing.” But when he lifts his eyes to meet hers he realises that, like him, she doesn’t want to think at all. Thinking, today, causes pain and they’ve each had enough of that.

Instead, he drops to his knees and parts her legs further. She is wearing stockings, though he’d always pegged her for pantyhose, and he rolls each one down over her knee, his tongue following the path of the sheer nylon. The material of her skirt seems to shimmer and float over her legs as his tongue makes its way back up her pale skin. His hands slide up the outside of her thighs and pull her towards him. She rocks backwards as his fingers grip the hem of her underwear and her cherry-covered panties slide easily off.

She is wet as his tongue slides over her clit. His fingers tense on her thighs as he laps at the taste of her – cinnamon and vanilla, and something that reminds him faintly of sorrow. He can hear her moan as his tongue pushes deeper inside of her and his teeth graze the firm skin of her clit. He sucks and pushes and lets himself be swallowed up by the feel of her quivering beneath him. If he can stop her from thinking, stop himself from thinking, then maybe they will survive this.

The erection, straining against his pants as Scully moans on the desk, begins to distract him. He needs to do something or he might just explode. Freeing one hand from Scully’s skirt, he fumbles with his zipper.

“Need any help?” Her voice is throaty and hoarse with desire as she leans forward. Her hands slide around his throat and she wraps her fingers around his tie, pulling him towards her. She kisses him again hungrily, his tie still held in one fist. With the other hand she pulls down the zipper and frees his erection. She runs her fingers over the head of his cock as his tongue dips into her. He can’t even whisper her name as she slides her hand up the length of his cock, squeezing and teasing, and pulling his mouth harder on hers.

“I want you,” he groans, slipping the words into her mouth. He feels her lips pull into a smile beneath him.

“At what cost?”

“Anything.”

The need he feels right now is stronger than that he’s felt in a long time. Right now, he’d give up anything – his career, his reputation, his fucking life – if it meant being inside of Scully.

She pushes him away from her and slides off the desk. His tie is still caught in her fist, his shirt half unbuttoned. What, he begins to ask himself as she turns him around and backs him up so that his legs hit the hard wood.

“Then I need to be in control.”

She pushes him onto the desk and straddles him as she knots the tie deftly around his wrists. He’s never seen this side of Scully, though he knows from the case files that have littered his office she’s more than capable of taking charge. Her breasts come within inches of his mouth as she bends over him and he reaches out his tongue to slide it over her nipples. She moans and he does it again, relishing the taste of her flesh through the sheer fabric of her bra.

The thin material of her skirt grazes the head of his cock and sends fresh anticipation shivering through. What would she be like, wet and warm and enclosing him? What would she be like as he thrust into her? He sucks on her nipple and she responds by nipping at his throat. Before very long, he thinks, he’ll be beyond all coherent thought.

She pulls back from him slightly and he growls, a primal noise deep in the back of his throat. Scully smiles. He gasps when she lowers herself onto him, a sound he can’t help making. She is warm and wet and tight, and she grinds herself against him, pulling him deeper inside her. He wants to reach out and cup her breasts, pull her against him as she rocks, but his hands are bound tight and he realises that she is totally in control. He gives himself up to her then, and watches her close her eyes as she rocks out a rhythm, losing herself in the pull and thrust of his cock.

He calls out when he comes, the word caught in the back of his throat like a secret. He isn’t surprised that she stays silent.

* * *

  
She is businesslike as she buttons her blouse, retrieves her pantyhose from beneath the desk. He recovers the files that plummeted to the floor and pores over their pages, studiously avoiding looking at her. Except when he knows she won’t be able to see. Except when he stares at her so hard he thinks her image will be forever burned on his retinas.

“I’ll call you later.” He says as she reaches for the door handle. “Let you know if there are any developments,” he hastily adds.

She nods.

The office is still after she leaves. The hum of the air conditioning, the thrum of traffic on the street outside, the thudding of his heart the only noises to be heard.

“Fuck,” he whispers.


End file.
